Hungry
by Elphaba'sGirl
Summary: Jack isn't hungry. He isn't. He's told himself that a hundred times today. If you cannot afford to eat, then you cannot afford to be hungry.


**Hey all! This- believe it or not- started as a happy oneshot. I have issues with this fandom; why does it never let me write anything happy and fluffy? Ah, well. Enjoy!**

**Newsies isn't mine!**

The papers are ugly. They're ugly and heavy and Jack curses them as he drags them through the streets of New York. At thirteen, he isn't the youngest newsie by far, and most days he is perfectly capable of carrying a hundred papes around the city, but he is hungry and tired and the papers are heavy and ugly and it's snowing and all he can think is that he wishes he had a warm meal to look forward to when he gets back to the lodging house.

But he isn't hungry. He isn't. He repeats the words over and over in his head, trying to convince himself that they're true.

He pauses on the corner to lean against a red brick building, where, inside, a family of three eats a dinner of roast goose and what looks like a million side dishes. Through another window, in the kitchen, he can see a layered chocolate cake and a steaming pot of coffee.

_He isn't hungry. _

The family is laughing at something the little girl says. She is a pretty girl, with softly curling red hair and sparkling green eyes, probably around his age. She is the only one of the three directly facing the window, and Jack is startled as she turns her head just enough to catch his eye.

The mother and father turn to face each other as they talk. The father is a big man, with a thick, dark beard and calloused hands. The mother is a dainty lady with painted lips and a generous amount of hair piled atop her head.

The girl holds his gaze and smiles slightly. Jack smiles back, then takes another breath of the freezing air and shivers. He needs to get home. He runs through the boys' names in his head. It's nearly eight; Race will still be at the track, Crutchie and Romeo will be back at the lodging house, Finch and Specs will be heading back... and then he loses his train of thought.

It's too cold for this. Jack winds his numb fingers more tightly around his bag of papers and shakes his head.

Hopefully one of the boys remembered to start a fire. Hopefully he has enough money to buy them something to eat. Hopefully Crutchie's leg isn't bothering him too much. Hopefully... hopefully he'll be able to make it home without falling.

He throws one more glance at the window, where the little girl is excusing herself from the table as her parents' expressions turn from lively to heated. She slips out the door and into the kitchen. Jack shakes his head and heads down the street, unable to feel his hands or his feet. The newspaper bag is cutting into his shoulder, and it's too late to sell anymore- wait, it's eight o'clock. It isn't too late, is it? What day is it? All he knows is it's December, and he is cold. He pulls his sopping wet newsie cap off his head, wrings out the freezing water, and places it back on his head.

He is about to turn the corner when he hears someone call to him.

"Hey! Wait!"

He turns to see the red-haired girl running down the street, dressed in a pale blue wool coat and shiny black boots, with matching gloves on her hands. There is a hat on her head and her cheeks are already flushed from the cold.

Jack stops walking, but his eyelids are heavy. "Yeah?"

She is out of breath just from the few moments of running. "I just wanted to give you this." She holds out a parcel wrapped in brown paper, and smiles at him.

"Why?" Jack asks suspiciously.

"You looked hungry," she tells him, as though the answer should be obvious.

Jack isn't hungry. He _isn't. _He's told himself that a hundred times today. If you cannot afford to eat, then you cannot afford to be hungry.

But the parcel- whatever is inside- smells good. He can't tell exactly what it is, but it is so tempting and it's _warm. _He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out and taking it.

"I can't take that," he tells her, but his stomach lets out a growl in protest.

"Sure you can," the girl says, smiling.

Jack turns away from her, the wind turning his already numb lips a pale blue to match his fingers and toes. He is envious of the girl's gloves.

"No," he says, but it sounds different in his ears than he had intended it to.

The scent of the food is filling his nose, and he. Isn't. Hungry. He _isn't. _

But Racetrack is.

Crutchie is.

Some of the boys haven't eaten for two days. Jack hasn't eaten for a week, but he isn't hungry.

Albert is hungry.

Specs is hungry.

Jack is not hungry.

But his newsies are.

He turns back to the girl, shivering.

"Please?" the girl says, and the wind blows her hair around her face.

"Al- alright," Jack says begrudgingly. He doesn't want to take the food, because he doesn't need it. He isn't hungry. He cannot be dependent on anyone because he has people depending on _him. _

The girl's smile is beautiful. It stretches across her face and he feels a little warmer inside.

"Wonderful." She places the package in his hands. He can smell the roast goose, and the mashed potatoes, and... chocolate cake. Crutchie loves chocolate cake.

"Thanks," he says softly.

"You're welcome." Her nose is turning pink from the cold. She is so pretty. "Merry Christmas."

It's Christmas day. He forgot.

"Merry Christmas," he returns, then he smiles back and turns away, ducking his head against the cold.

The girl turns the other way, back toward her home, then spins around again.

"Do you want to come inside? To warm up a little? My father won't mind, I'm sure." But he is gone. She is speaking to no one, no one but the moon that shines pale and gray against a black canvas.

The wind blows gently against her warm coat, as she stands outside beneath the darkening sky.

* * *

><p>Jack cannot take it anymore, walking with a delicious meal in his hands and not eating any of it. Maybe he will just have one small bite.<p>

He unwraps the packaging and rips off a tiny sliver of meat. It melts on his tongue and he sags against the wall.

Jack is not hungry. He is starved.

* * *

><p>The girl climbs the steps to her house, places her hand on the door, and walks in. But she feels colder indoors than she did out in the wind.<p> 


End file.
